The Beekeeper

Chapter 8

He watched Cassia as she entered the room. Judging from the amount of time that had dragged on without end, it was quite late in the day – and the bowl she was carrying contained his evening meal. Lord, he was tired of liquid meals - and as he observed her coming towards him, he groaned in displeasure.

"Do not bring me more soup. I will not have it."

She shook her head. "No soup, my lord. You have improved considerably over the last few days. I think you can now have something more substantial."

She put the bowl in his hands – which now, thank goodness, were no longer prone to shaking. He looked down at the contents - and curled his lip in distaste.

"Porridge? You bring me a meal given to children, or the elderly and infirmed?"

A hint of a smile came to her lips, and he suddenly realized what she was thinking – and when she said nothing, he asked...

"What is that look? Do you mean to remind me that it is I who am infirmed?"

On that point, she remained silent. Instead, she commented on the food she had brought to him.

"There is honey in the mixture. And I stirred in cinnamon as well. I think you will find the taste quite pleasant."

His eyes filled with suspicion. "Cinnamon?" he asked. "How did you come by such a luxury? Was it stolen? Or did you conjure it from thin air?"

She shook her head. "No, it was not stolen. As I have mentioned before, my grandfather was a world traveler. On his travels, he counted spice plants among the many items in his collection. He brought those plants home, and they now provide us with goodness and health."

For a moment, he found himself arrested by her gaze – and he felt a slight shortness of breath, as well as a sudden pulsation of feeling just under his left rib. Heavens, she was lovely – especially her eyes. For years, he had caught sight of her in small glimpses, and even then he had known that she was a fair lass. But to see her now, and so close to him...

It seemed quite unpleasant to see her turn her gaze away, moving towards the end of the bed. She would examine his foot now – as she had done nearly every day for a week. He braced himself for it. And he saw the look of pity that crossed her features. It was a reminder of the physical limitations he was now forced to cope with – and he felt his bitterness once again taking him over.

"How long am I to remain here?"

She began unwrapping the linen from his foot. "I cannot say, my lord. These things take time. But should I venture a guess, I would tell you that you have several weeks of recovery at best."

He scoffed. "Several weeks? Are you mad?"

"Forgive me, but that is the truth of it. Your ankle was broken quite badly, and you must give it time to heal."

"And what am I to do with myself? Am I to lie here and waste away?"

She looked so sorry for him. He found it unsettling how she seemed so truly intent on caring for him. No one – except for his mother and old Isolde– had treated him with such compassion before. Even Cassia's spoken words were extensions of her seeming eagerness to comfort him.

"If it eases your mind to know it, we have taken good care of your horse, my lord. Bertram is very good with animals. I am aware that a man's horse is always quite dear to him – as I am sure yours is."

Guy sighed, relenting to another element of his life that was no longer in his hands.

"He is an active and intelligent beast. He will not understand being kept in confinement. He is likely to think I abandoned him."